


Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts

by Dragonflies_and_Katydids



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Exhibitionism, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 20:24:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6023485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonflies_and_Katydids/pseuds/Dragonflies_and_Katydids
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian takes Cullen to an orgy.</p><p>No seriously. That's it. That's the entire story. All porn, no plot, and stupid amounts of fun to write.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Wicked Hearts](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3401126) by [originally](https://archiveofourown.org/users/originally/pseuds/originally). 



> I decided to create a separate NSFW blog on Tumblr, and of course it needed something interesting to start off with, right? And I've been staring at originally's [Dissonant Verses](http://archiveofourown.org/series/217505) series for months now, hoping for a third installment, because I never say no to voyeurism porn. Actually, what I usually say to voyeurism porn is, "GIVE IT TO ME NOW!!!" Usually while hyperventilating and making grabby hands, though I try not to get creepy about it.
> 
> This weekend, it dawned on me that I'm a writer, I can write my own smut (as opposed to staring mournfully at other people, hoping they'll write it for me, which is what I've been doing), and that this story would probably be a good starting point for a NSFW blog. So...yeah. Happy birthday to my [porn blog](http://d-and-k-nsfw.tumblr.com/)!

When Cullen agreed to this, he didn't realize how much it was going to hurt, that every passing second would spread the ache until he can't think, can barely breathe. He didn't know that just sitting in a comfortable chair could turn into utter agony so very quickly. No one is doing anything to him, but that only makes it worse: for all the groans and breathless gasps across the room, no one has laid so much as a finger on him since he sat down. He didn't know it was possible to be this hard for this long, and knowing he could end it whenever he wants, simply by standing, only sharpens the pain into something that burns through his entire body.

On the bed across the room, Dorian groans, the soft sound he makes when he's right on the edge, and Cullen shudders, fingers biting into the arms of the chair. He shifts his weight involuntarily, thighs clenching, and the soft velvet of the chair is another torture, stroking over his bare skin.

He could end this if he wanted to, he reminds himself. Get up, close the door. Fuck Dorian however he wants to extinguish the heat gathered in his belly. Instead, he continues to watch, his eyes locked on Dorian's.

Dorian, who's looked away from him only a handful of times since they arrived, even as he moves with whatever rhythm his current partner has set. There have been five so far: five men, masked and anonymous, hands moving over Dorian's skin while Cullen watches, his cock growing harder and harder with each man who takes his pleasure from Dorian's body. Masked or not, Cullen thinks he could pick any of them out of a crowd, just by their hands and their voices, by the memory of Dorian's face as they touched him.

The first man was pale and freckled, thick with a sworder's muscles. Hesitant, despite his strength. Voice wavering, breaking at odd and embarrassing moments. Hands moving in jerky strokes as if he was overwhelmed by the possibilities in front of him. It's a feeling Cullen could sympathize with, even as he watched the man spend himself in long white stripes across Dorian's stomach while Dorian offered a variety of obscene suggestions.

The second man was dark and lean, with a nobleman's soft hands. Soft in more ways than one, gentle as they explored Dorian's body. Voice warm and low, whispering words that made Dorian laugh before that voice dropped lower yet, praise and encouragement as he fucked Dorian with his fingers and then his cock. Soft hands on Dorian's cock, until Dorian moaned, eyes squeezing shut as he came. When his eyes opened, they went straight to Cullen's, and he smiled at whatever he saw.

The third man was tanned and scarred, heavy as the first but without his hesitation. Even behind the mask, there was something about him that alarmed Cullen, that snapped him out of his haze and made him glad Dorian wasn't alone. That man's voice and hands were rough as he took Dorian's mouth, pulling him forward by his hair and holding him in place, but Dorian's hands were free, and he made no effort to get away. Instead, he moaned as his mouth was fucked, his cock growing hard again, and when the man finished, Dorian looked at Cullen and licked his lips.

The fourth man was slim, his hands darkened by the sun while the rest of him was pale as the first. No words, just the occasional hum of pleasure or approval as he fucked Dorian with a cock made of some dark wood, held in place by a leather harness around his hips. Firm hands: not rough, but also not gentle as he stroked Dorian back to full hardness. Even without words, he demanded a reaction from Dorian's body as clearly as if he'd ordered it, and he dragged Dorian's second release from him with the same implacable force. Dorian whimpered faintly as he jerked in those steady, relentless hands, then whimpered again when they rubbed over his chest afterward, soothing.

The fifth man was thick and stocky, his skin the same warm brown as Dorian's. An unexceptional voice, except for the way he used it to give a detailed description of everything his hands were doing. Joyfully, like a man offering a prayer of thanks to the Maker as he ran his fingers through the mess on Dorian's skin. After he'd described the shape of Dorian's mouth around his cock and the tightness of Dorian's ass around his fingers so clearly Cullen could feel both, he put Dorian on his side in the ruined blankets and curled around him, cock sliding through the gap at the top of his thighs. For the first time, Cullen had two sets of eyes on him as the bodies on the bed moved together, two people drawing their pleasure from his desperation.

There was a pause after the fifth man left, a moment of quiet except for Cullen's breathing and Dorian's sighs, but now there's a sixth man stepping through the door, surveying the room from behind his mask: this one is older than the others, perhaps twenty years Cullen's senior, fingers starting to thicken at the knuckles. A voice that's still steady, though, and so deep it rumbles in Cullen's chest from across the room. Hands that are just as steady, guiding Dorian to kneel beside the bed and then cupping the back of his head as a thick cock slides between his lips. Hands that hold Dorian back more than once, letting him suck eagerly for a while before pulling him away, only to take his mouth again when Dorian begs for it. At the end, one hand squeezes Dorian's jaw to keep his mouth open while the man strokes his own cock with the other, spilling himself half between Dorian's lips and half across his chin.

Cullen is standing before he even realizes he'd planned to move. The stranger is startled for a moment, but Dorian only blinks lazily from behind his mask, as if in challenge.

The other man recovers himself and gives Cullen a half bow, smiling without mockery, his hand dropping away from Dorian's face as his low voice murmurs some farewell Cullen doesn't hear. He does hear the sound of the door closing, the hollow thump of wood against wood echoing in his ears as he stares at Dorian.

How long have they been here? There are no windows that would let him see the sky, no candles to watch burn down. He can't judge anything from the lanterns, and his own sense of time is skewed beyond hope. It feels like they've been here for days, though logically it can't have been even a single night. His only measure of time is the number of strangers who have passed through this room.

Dorian is still on his knees beside the bed, though he's sat back on his heels to rest his hands on his thighs. In the lamplight, his skin shines with sweat and oil and spend, and for one awful, glorious moment, Cullen teeters on the edge, control tested almost to the limit.

Too aware of how little it will take to push him over that edge, Cullen moves slowly toward Dorian, whose face tilts up to maintain eye contact as the distance between them shrinks. When he's close enough, Cullen reaches out and unties Dorian's mask with fingers that don't tremble, despite everything. He tosses both masks to the side, not caring where they end up, and finally, _finally_ , swipes his fingers across Dorian's chin, cleaning away the mess there. The mess he knows Dorian was deliberately ignoring, simply to tease him.

Dorian's mouth opens as soon as Cullen's thumb brushes against his lips, and he sucks on Cullen's fingers as enthusiastically as if they were a cock. His habitual smirk is gone, his eyes dark and wide as he licks the last man's seed off Cullen's fingers, making desperate, greedy sounds that squeeze Cullen's chest tighter.

His gaze lingers on Dorian's cock, the fingers of his free hand flexing as he imagines the feel of it, hot and hard in his grip. There's no telling whether Dorian could come a third time tonight, but Cullen wants to try, wants to see him caught between the pleasure and pain of having his cock stroked again.

His control...doesn't break, but it does crack a little, and he hauls Dorian up by one arm to shove him onto the bed. Dorian grabs his arm in turn, pulling him down on top, and Cullen doesn't even try to resist. All rational thought is gone, erased by the smell of Dorian and sex, by the way their skin slides together as Dorian spreads his legs to grind up against him. His thighs are slick, and Cullen is momentarily overwhelmed by everything that's happened tonight, memories flashing through his head almost too fast to follow: Dorian's ass and Dorian's mouth and Dorian's eyes on him the entire time, as if every man who fucked him was only an extension of Cullen.

Shoving Dorian's knees wide enough for his shoulders to fit between them, Cullen slides down the bed to press his nose to the base of Dorian's cock, breathing in the smell of his sweat and the sweat of every man who's had him tonight. Then he wraps his lips around Dorian's cock, taking all of it at once.

Dorian writhes as if he doesn't know whether he wants to thrust up into Cullen's mouth or get away, and the sounds he makes are wordless and frantic. His cock is hot against Cullen's tongue, getting harder with every passing moment, filling his mouth and throat until he has to pull away enough to gasp for air before swallowing Dorian's entire length again.

Cullen sucks until his jaw aches, then switches to his hand, stroking hard and fast. Dorian's cock is an angry purple-red, and he's whimpering constantly, one hand in Cullen's hair and one in his own, both pulling hard. Tears leak from the corners of his closed eyes, and the muscles in his ass and thighs tremble with exhaustion, but when Cullen's hand slows, Dorian thrusts up into his grip, begging for more.

When he does finally spend himself for the third time, it's hardly more than a few drops, but his body stays arched for a long time, the tendons in his neck standing out as his mouth works soundlessly, until he collapses back to the mattress, sucking in deep, rattling breaths.

"Please," he sobs without opening his eyes, his fingers still tight in Cullen's hair and his own. "Please, Cullen, _please_ , please fuck me, _please_..."

Cullen's almost sobbing himself. He's been so hard for so long, he doesn't know if release is even possible anymore, but he's never needed anything as much as he needs to fuck Dorian _right now_. His hands are clumsy as he gets Dorian's legs over his shoulders, raising Dorian's hips high enough that he can press his face between the cheeks of his ass, drowning for a moment in the smell and the taste and the filthy wet slickness against his lips.

" _Cullen_ ," Dorian begs again, and Cullen groans against his skin.

Dorian is too exhausted to stay upright even on his hands and knees, so Cullen leans against the headboard and pulls Dorian into his lap, holding him back to front with his arms around Dorian's chest and Dorian's head lolling against his shoulder. It takes him a moment to line himself up, then Dorian's ass is sinking down on his cock, and Cullen actually cries out at the perfect drag of heat, at the memory of every man who fucked him open and ready for this: for Cullen thrusting up into him as Dorian clutches at his hair and whispers, "Yes, oh Maker _yes_."

It isn't easy to move like this, but Cullen revels in the heavy press of Dorian's body against his, at the way that weight drives Dorian down onto his cock until Cullen can't possibly go any deeper, though release is beginning to seem less and less likely. If he could think, it might even frighten him, the possibility of something more than this. Pleasure is too mild a word for what he feels, not when he's had climaxes that were less intense than the lightning storm shocking through every inch of him right now, and still it's not enough, still it climbs higher and higher, the question of whether he can come no longer relevant, because there can't possibly be more than this.

Dorian turns enough to kiss him messily. Between kisses, he begs in broken sentences, words that mean less than the sound of his voice--"yes...oh please...like that...yes...inside me..."--until he says Cullen's name, and the lightning storm surges, and Cullen whites out, clinging to Dorian while his body clenches and tries to thrust his cock even deeper.

He's still shuddering when he comes back to himself, and he can't seem to make his arms unlock from around Dorian's chest. Not that Dorian seems to want it otherwise, not when his hands haven't yet released Cullen's hair.

Gasping for breath, Cullen presses his mouth to Dorian's neck, wanting to kiss him or bite him and unable to do either. Unable to do anything except try to gather enough thought to remember that he even has a body separate from Dorian's. And perhaps once he remembers what that feels like, he'll also remember why he wants to.

As little as he wants that memory, it creeps up on him anyway, along with an awareness of exactly how sticky he is. How sticky they both are. All the mess on Dorian's skin is now smeared over both of them, and if they don't get out of this bed sooner rather than later, they're going to be sorry. Of course, he still isn't sure he'll be sorry enough to make it worth moving now.

But once that much awareness has returned, the rest follows too quickly, and he can tell from the way Dorian is shifting his weight that he's uncomfortable, even if he's said nothing. So they crawl out of bed and clean themselves off and put their masks back on long enough to find the rooms set aside for actual sleeping. Cullen still isn't convinced it was worth the effort, though the mattress in the guest quarters is softer, the sheets finer and the blankets warmer.

Having Dorian curled up against him, head on his shoulder, is a fairly compelling argument, though.

He's drifting, almost asleep, when Dorian's voice comes out of the darkness. "We could do this again, you know."

Cullen recognizes the hesitant tone, almost hidden under studied nonchalance, but he's barely awake and so what he says is a rather too honest, "Not soon, I hope."

"Not if you don't want to." Dorian's voice is as stiff as his shoulders.

"I want to," Cullen says, waking up enough to gather a few of his wits. "But I assumed you might prefer some time."

"I would?" Dorian asks, shoulders still tense.

For an answer, Cullen brushes the backs of his fingers lightly--very lightly--over Dorian's cock. Dorian hisses and recoils, his hand coming up instinctively to knock Cullen's away.

As soon as he realizes what he's done, he laughs, relaxing back against Cullen's shoulder. "Perhaps I would," he concedes. The silence invites Cullen to drift off again, but he resists, waiting for Dorian to say whatever it is he's thinking so loudly.

At last, Dorian lays his palm on Cullen's chest, fingers kneading gently, and says, "You seemed to enjoy yourself."

For something that's ostensibly a statement, there are a large number of questions lurking behind it, and Cullen isn't sure he's awake enough to answer them properly. Especially not when he's distracted by the memory of Dorian with his mouth around another man's cock, a memory that's doing an excellent job of convincing Cullen's body it's not _that_ tired.

"I did," he manages to say. "Enjoy it." The words are a little strangled, so he clears his throat and tries a different tack. "There are things we might change next time, though."

"Oh?" Dorian says warily.

"Yes," Cullen says. He's teasing, he knows he is, but he so rarely has the upper hand in these conversations that he enjoys it for a moment longer before he says, "I think I would leave the door open. Let them watch me fuck you, and wish they were me."

Dorian swears softly under his breath, and Cullen thinks about what it would feel like, getting even a little bit hard after everything that was done to Dorian--and Dorian's cock--tonight.

"Sorry," he says, feeling suddenly guilty. "Are you all-"

He doesn't get to finish before Dorian kisses him hard, if briefly. "I'll hold you to that," Dorian says against his mouth, and Cullen smiles.


End file.
